The Whispering Door
by rainbow67
Summary: "Did anyone speak back?" "No, not that I could hear. It was odd to see him speaking to the air. Something about it, it makes me uneasy. Sends a chill down my spine just to talk about it." She watched a look dance through the man's eyes as the smallest of muscles on his face tightened before he returned his attention to his food. "It's probably nothing."


**AN: Somethin' new I've been working on. I should probably be at work on my other stories, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity when this one came to me, and so far, I'm very excited to write it. I hope you'll all enjoy it and I'd appreciate any reviews, tips or such you might have for me. The Elder Scrolls series in no way belongs to me and I hope you'll all enjoy!**

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The rapid, sharp tap of the rain matched the frantic footsteps of many of Whiterun's citizens as they attempted to rid themselves of its quick and chittering noise or the cold and the sting it brought along with it. Amongst these fleeing people stood a woman, soaked to the bone and shivering despite the weathered wooden awning of Belethor's General Goods she took shelter beneath.

It had been raining for some time, on and off, but a week had passed and the fat frozen drops continued on, the weather poor and cold, for the months had crept into Evening Star and no longer was the sun warm as it brought with it an unforgiving chill that started as but a crawl across the dry-grass tundra that eventually meandered, ambled really, over Whiterun Hold. It fell into more of a clumsy jog and slopped its way across the land until the cold that blew in from the mountains sat still and heavy, unbroken by the clouded sun.

Many a' people's moods had grown stiff and rigid like the chilled crops outside Pelagia Farm that, most of them, had before been crushed by a giant in late Sun's Dusk. Their sour moods had brought the lot to The Bannered Mare where Hulda, the only person who seemed to hold what little cheer Whiterun had left in this frozen month, served drink after drink in an attempt to raise some sort of jolly temper, though her attempts were just that: Simple attempts.

Back beneath the awning, our frozen woman stood shivering, teeth chattering and much less than pleased to be bothered by the fool that urged her to relinquish a rather large soul gem she held possession of. "Come now, Ysolda, I have the gold. I have it right here." The woman that had been doing the pestering gestured to her coin purse, gave a large, waterlogged smile, and continued to pester on. "I assure you, the Khajiit can find many, many more." Ysolda hadn't seemed swayed in the slightest, a glare creeping upon her brow as she held herself.

"And why should I give _you_ such a gem?"

"I'm willing to pay for it. I'll not bother you for a week – three! I promise you this, if only you'd give me the gem."

Ysolda eyed the rather curvy Breton, what with her small, pale hands and plump smile. She wasn't the type of curvy you'd find in the many tavern wenches that littered Skyrim, not by any means voluptuous, but rather her curves came from large hips, perfect for childbearing, and a bit of overeating, though the woman always claimed to never have enough food for any sort of proper meal. The chill was beginning to bite too much at Ysolda and her nerves had been ridden to their end. With a sigh of frustration, she finally caved. "One hundred and thirty gold and the gem is yours."

The smile she thought obnoxious, especially in these cold, late hours, had founds its way to the Breton's face and she handed over the currency and Ysolda relinquished the gem. No more words were spoken between the two women, aside from a thank you and a grunt, and they turned from one another, Ysolda off towards The Bannered Mare and the Breton heading her way to Dragonsreach.

Many, many months ago, possibly a year, the young woman, beaten and battered by the elements, not a home to call her own or a gold piece to her name, had found herself wandering the tundra, down a stone road without any sort of fixed destination. An "acquired" bottle of Honningbrew mead had been her dinner for the night and an unused stable her bed. The few Khajiit outside the city of Whiterun had allowed her a quick rest amongst them all the following morning, but, seeing as she had nothing of worth for them to "acquire" the same way she had that bottle of mead, they turned her over to the road again, sent her on her way.

She found the city, found the suspicious guards, some wary cityfolk, some pleasant enough to grant her a smile, and she found the vendors and their tempting words and cries for any sort of business. A man, homeless as she was, sent her on her way towards the Temple of Kynareth and she was taken in by the priests.

She did odd jobs for some time, helped clean up around the temple, and most of all, minded herself. It was an early morning, Mid Year, she believed, when a man by the name of Farengar Secret-Fire had found her. He claimed to be the court wizard of Dragonsreach, in search of some odd magic (whatever a court wizard would require from a priest, she hadn't the slightest clue) and seemed to take pity on the Breton. She was mentioned to the Jarl and the wizard asked if she could take up room in the castle, come clean, come work as a maid; Fianna and Gerda could teach her all she needed to know, wouldn't hurt to have an extra hand.

The rain still, no longer tapping as it had poured into a shower, fell over the stone steps and she hurried to be rid of it, past the guards and into the castle. She scurried her way past Gerda, who gave her but a glance, and found herself headed straight towards the quarters of the court wizard, catching herself on the door frame with that plump, obnoxious smile upon her cheeks. "Farengar, are you busy?" She knew the answer, for it was rather obvious what with the war and all still raging about, and her smile drooped only slightly when the man gave her a halfhearted grunt, his hands braced against his desk as his tired eyes scanned over some book about dragons. "I've brought you something I think you'll absolutely adore."

Her response this time was a sigh, half exhaustion, half frustration. "Andretti, I haven't the time for your nonsensical gifts. Please, leave me be." She had strolled her way up behind him as he spoke, peeking past his shoulder to glance about the odd scribbles he seemed so focused on. Without a word, she placed the soul gem down upon his book, the man's shoulder's unwinding some as he picked up the rock. He weighed the item in his hand, held it up to the light, and turned a wary, but grateful eye to the girl. "It's a nice gesture, but-"

"Oh, no, it's no gesture. It's a gift and I refuse to allow _you_ to refuse it." Andretti plucked it from him and placed it aside on his desk, the man finally having collapsed in his chair to rub a hand over his face. "They've already prepared supper..." Farengar gave a noise to let the Breton know he had heard her. "Have you eaten at all today?"

The man had to actually ponder her question for a moment. "I... Have?"

"Have you?"

He sighed. "No, I don't believe I have..."

She hadn't a word for him as she exited the room, returning a minute later with two bowls and two silver plates weighted down with whatever happened to be left. She had returned to find the man with his nose buried back in his book, Andretti quickly snatching it away and replaced it with his food. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to save your page." She told at the notice of panic overtaking the wizard's brow. The man released yet another sigh. "Do you wish to talk about it?" Andretti asked without lifting her eyes from her soup.

"There's a lot on my shoulders, what with this war, and dear gods, these _dragons_." He brought his spoon up to his lips. "Too much, I'd say." Andretti nodded. "And that's not to mention the trouble with Nelkir..."

At the mention of the boys name, a look crossed over the woman's face, sullen as her small hand went limp for but a moment before she re-gripped her spoon. "It is troublesome, isn't it?"

"He's always been a dark child."

"Well, yes, of course, but it's been much more so than usual." She set aside her soup to reach over to her plate.

"Jarl Balgruuf asked me to speak to the child but a few days ago. I couldn't gather anything from the boy. I get the feeling he resents me somehow..." He continued to sip at his soup. "Though, it could just be this weather."

"Are you to be eating your carrots, or...?" Farengar gestured his plate to the woman and she plucked at them with her fork. "I don't think so, though. The weather, I mean, I don't believe it to be the weather."

"What _do_ you believe?"

Andretti shrugged. "As you said, he's a dark child, curious one too." She finished picking at the man's carrots and set aside her plate, abandoning the food for a moment to lean forward and drop her voice. "It's odd. At night, when I'm sleeping, I've found him on more than one occasion down..." She paused. "You know of the door? The locked one, in the basement, quite old?"

"Yes." There was a slight unease in the man's voice.

"I've found him talking to it. I'd wake and find the boy conversing with the door."

"Did anyone speak back?"

"No, not that I could hear. It was odd to see him speaking to the air. Something about it, it makes me uneasy. Sends a chill down my spine just to talk about it." She watched a look dance through the man's eyes as the smallest of muscles on his face tightened before he returned his attention to his food.

"It's probably nothing."

"You know who else has been whispering about?" Andretti questioned the man and he asked who. "Fianna and Gerda."

"Really?" Farengar had to make his tone sound a bit more interested than he was, for he never really cared for idle gossip, though Andretti loved it.

"Oh, yes. Most of it is simply fabricated rumours, like, 'The Jarl secretly worships Talos', or, 'Nelkir is possessed by an aberration' or some odd something such as that." She could tell Farengar wasn't truly listening as his hand was inching towards his book. "They speak a lot about you, too." This had grabbed the Nord's attention.

"Do they?"

"Oh, of course. They believe you to be rather mysterious, and handsome too." She could practically feel the embarrassment radiate off the man at the listen of the compliment. "Not to mention, they believe you to be a bit creepy." She watched the light in his eyes die and an unintended frown presented itself to her. "They're sure, though, that you and I..." She had to stop a moment to laugh before continuing on. "That you and I are lovers. How silly does that sound? They're both so positive – even asked me the other day how many times I've bedded you." She laughed louder and finally returned to her food. "My favourite rumour of all, though, this one's about you again, is that, you know those trips you make, you're about gone for three days, off to fetch some spells from the college or whatever it is you wizards require?" Farengar nodded. "Well, those trips, they've invented a rumour that those trips aren't to buy spells or anything to do with magic, but you're actually seeing someone.

A sweet little tart; a tavern wench or some sort. Quite the 'ladies man' they believe you to be." She giggled. "How absurd." Farengar had managed his own laugh, though weighted it was with the tiredness and exhaustion that hung about on his face. "Are you tired?"

He tried for a lie. "Not at all..."

"I know when you're lying, Farengar, don't lie to me. Now, I'll ask again, are you tired?"

He had given up on his half-baked attempt at deceit. "Very..."

"Then head off to bed."

"Can't." Andretti watched him rise from his chair as he disposed of what was left on his plate to the woman. "Jarl Balgruuf needs some things translated, books read, papers signed." She watched his face sink with each word he released. "I'll be up all night again tonight."

"Then I'll stay up with you."

Her suggestion was shot-down immediately. "Absolutely not. I refuse to be the reason you're falling asleep in the bath water."

The young woman puffed out her cheeks like a pouting child. "You Nords, you're stubborn, the lot of you." She quickly swiped up the man's dishes, her own as well, and turned from the wizard, mocking him with a rather childlike showing of her tongue before leaving the Nord to himself. She returned a few minutes later – fifteen or twenty – with a basin, a washboard, and a whole heap of clothing.

Farengar lifted his head from his book to give a curious eye to the woman who situated herself in the corner of the room, sat down as if she were meaning to stay. "Andretti..." Farengar started.

"You be quiet now, Farengar. Once these clothes are washed, I'll be out of your hair and off to bed. 'Til then, put up with me." The wizard allowed it to slide, for he was much too exhausted to argue with the woman and gods know how the woman could argue. She once backed the Jarl into a corner when she brought up some issue about the sleeping quarters of the staff. Argued for three straight hours with the man. "You know what I've heard?" Farengar held in a groan. And here came the woman's constant gossip – how she adored it. "The Dragonborn is said to be an Orc. A woman at that." Andretti failed to receive a reply from the other as he kept his attention on his books rather than on her. She allowed it, but continued to speak out to the air. "Could you even imagine? An Orc of all things, the Dragonborn. I wonder if she's as brutish as all the others. Though, me, myself, I've never met an Orc, but I've heard they can be truly terrible. Do you think she has a side in this war? I wonder what her name is? Didn't she come to you for reason? And you sent her looking for some tablet, Farengar?" Andretti lifted her attention from the clothes she was washing to bring about towards the wizard. His head was down on the desk, tucked into his arms as his chest rose and fell slowly. She smiled at the sight, rising up from the ground and drying off her hands before gently walking up towards him. "I knew that would work..." She whispered to the silence. She would have carried the man to bed if he were, say, a few feet smaller and a whole lot lighter. She took a blanket and draped it along his shoulders, swiping back his hood to expose the mess of chestnut brown hair the man always seemed to keep concealed. Her small hand ran through it, twirled it about on her fingers before she bent forward to peck him atop the head and exit with her basin and clothes.

Her destination had been the kitchen, more precisely, near the stairs in the kitchen that led towards her quarters. She dropped down near the bannister and continued on with her work, lifting her head ever so often to watch a guard patrol past the open room. The quiet seemed heavy, far too heavy, but, none-the-less, she was lulled into it and lost herself in her work. "They're right, you know."

Andretti jumped and snapped her eyes to the owner of the voice, a grand sigh of relief heaving from her lips as she brought wet hands up to cover her face. "Nelkir, you scared me half to death."

"They're right, you know." He repeated. "Fiana and Gerda."

"What are you doing up?" She ignored his statement.

"Should I not be up?"

"You _should_ be in bed, like the good boy you are." She was preparing to escort the boy to his room.

"I'm fine as I am. Not as if my father..." He paused. "Not as if anyone will notice, anyhow..."

Andretti gave the boy an eye. "What are you doing in here?" Her question was slower than she meant it to be and the silence was heavy again, feeling as though their voices were far, far too loud against it.

He glanced towards one of the tables. "I was hungry..." He lied.

Andretti slowly nodded, but the boy's lie was obvious to her and she reached over for an apple. "Here." She offered it to Nelkir and he accepted. "Now, I'll take you off to bed..."

The walk to the boys room was silent and the tension was rising in the air. An uneasiness began to grow up from the Breton's gut and she kept her gaze forward the entire time, didn't dare glance down at the child, didn't dare whisper a word till she reached his room and secured him in his bed. "They were right, though." He started up again, whispered in the dark as Andretti tucked him in. Her small hands hovered just above him.

"_Who _was right?" She dared to question.

"Fiana and Gerda. About Farengar."

The quiet bit at the back of Andretti's neck and a cold sweat began to start up on her brow. For some reason, the child frightened her what with his gentle eyes and tone. "Goodnight, Nelkir."

The air was thick, heavy, chilled from the air outside and the cracked window allowed a breeze in to blow about the room and whisper against a drape in the dark. Nelkir's eyes were wide awake and he looked at Andretti, stared straight on into her own and with a tone dead as the tundra he replied. "Goodnight, Andretti."


End file.
